


Canidae - Control

by chidoriXblossom



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24840073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chidoriXblossom/pseuds/chidoriXblossom
Summary: Their secret must be kept.  Their survival depends on it.  But the wolf must always be respected, or there will be chaos.  When a pack member goes rogue, it's up to Virgil to track them down.
Comments: 21
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been toying with the idea of doing a werewolf fic for over a year now. Lots of chatting with Gumnut got me inspired to write something, and I've been tapping away at this on and off for many months now. 
> 
> I hope to make a series of this rather than one long fic, so the timeline may be a bit all over the place but I hope people still enjoy it.

“Virgil, wake up!”

Huh? The dark haired man grunted as hands shook him, his own arm swinging out to push his attacker away. It was a few seconds before he recognised the voice as Gordon’s.

“I don’t care if you’re grumpy, this is an emergency!”

It damn well better be. If this was another one of the squid’s stupid pranks Virgil would make sure his body was never found.

Disturbing an overly tired Virgil was like flirting with death itself. 

He sat up with a growl and ran a hand through his dishevelled hair. “What is it? Another rescue?”

“Scott’s gone rogue!”

Virgil’s blood ran cold.

_ Shit! _

He flung back his crumpled duvet and practically leapt out of bed.

‘Rogue’ was a term they used whenever a member of the pack lost control and changed. It could happen as a result of stress, anger or anxiety, and often caused temporary loss of reasoning. It was something the family naturally took very seriously. 

A stray werewolf running amok had to be captured and brought back to the island before they were spotted by a member of the public. 

They had to protect themselves and their secret.

“What’s his location?” Please, for the love of God, don’t let it be a built up area.

“Alaska,” Gordon reported swiftly, following Virgil into the elevator in the hall. 

They would be taking Thunderbird Two but this was no ordinary mission, so Virgil’s chute wasn’t required. Instead Virgil would gear up enroute. Right now their deployment speed was more important than ever.

“Proximity to any settlements?”

“John says there’s a small town a couple of miles east, but Scott’s implant indicates he's travelling in the opposite direction, further into the mountains.”

That was one positive at least. Even with his human reasoning temporarily blocked Scott’s wolf instincts were still taking him away from immediate danger. They’d had that drilled into them as pups by their mother.

To wolves humans meant danger. Stay away. Run, hide. Don’t be seen. Find cover and wait until it’s safe.

Unfortunately, going by what Gordon had already told him, Scott would probably put Virgil into that same category right now. A threat.

How far into instinct had his mind fallen?

The elevator reached the hangar and as soon as the doors slid open Virgil hit an emergency panel set into the rock wall. Automatically the tractor unit started to roll, pulling out the row of pods for selection between Thunderbird Two’s landing struts. Virgil’s priority one command had the rarely used pod seven join the lineup, and the great green ship lowered herself over it once it came to a stop.

The two brothers entered via the hydraulic hatch into the cockpit and Gordon dropped into the pilot’s seat. Virgil meanwhile headed down into the module. Unlike its six siblings number seven was outfitted purely for werewolf capture and containment. One mountain pod was rigged up with a crane arm and transportation crate at the back. 

The rest of the module had space for medical treatment, was loaded with special armoured gear and housed the tranquiliser rifles locked in a cabinet against the bulkhead.

Virgil took a seat until his ‘bird was in the air, then geared up. Swapping his normal blue uniform of International Rescue for a thicker grey version he donned a special vest, gloves and pulled on reinforced boots. Specifically designed for situations just like this, Brains’ own blend of strengthened polymers combined with kevlar would protect Virgil from sharp werewolf fangs and powerful jaws.

Well…for the most part.

All armour had a weakness somewhere. A chink. A gap. A werewolf gone rogue just had to find the right spot and he could tear the wearer apart. Still, it was better than nothing.

A helmet with a wide visor and hud display over his eyes completed the getup. Virgil had turned down the option for a full face visor like his IR helmet in situations like this, because his sense of smell was so important. 

When he had to track down brothers who had gone rogue, or sniff out potential dangers, his nose had to be uncovered. The helmet also had slots in both sides so Virgil would be able to hear better. 

If anyone was going to find a werewolf on the run, it was another werewolf with their heightened senses, so Virgil’s tracking gear offered as much protection as possible without hindering those natural gifts.

Helmet secured, he went to the cabinet next. A retina scan unlocked the reinforced casing and he removed the air rifle he now had no choice but to use on his older brother. It would send the subsonic impact delivery dart over a long range and hopefully bring Scott down before he even felt the prick of it against his skin.

Assuming Virgil could get a clear shot.

The second eldest Tracy hated guns. Always had. He was not a fighting man and had no ambitions of climbing the ranks within a military organisation like Scott and Gordon had in their earlier years before International Rescue.

But Virgil’s proficiency when it came to shooting over long distances was far beyond anyone else in the family, all of whom had received training for emergency situations just like this one. 

John had once made an idle comment that, had they been born during a time of conflict, Virgil would have made a brilliant sniper. 

The thought turned his stomach even now.

_ “ETA ten minutes,” _ Gordon reported.  _ “John has sent coordinates for a suitable landing site.” _

“Is Scott still on the move?” Virgil asked as he loaded the rifle and secured some extra rounds to his belt.

_ “Affirmative. He’s changed direction and is picking up speed. His movement patterns suggest he’s chasing some kind of animal.” _

Oh, great. A rogue wolf now on a hunt. If Virgil didn’t get to him quickly Scott could go into a feeding frenzy once he caught his prey and that would make the whole situation even more difficult. Werewolves were incredibly territorial and would attack anything that threatened to steal their kill.

It was that part of their physiology that made them so dangerous.

Virgil sighed. “Understood.”

This wasn’t going to be easy.

~*~

John’s chosen landing site was approximately three miles from where Scott had abandoned Thunderbird One. Fortunately her distressed pilot had still had enough sense of mind to activate her camouflage before the change had taken hold and he’d fled the scene, his torn uniform lying in the snow nearby.

Gordon hovered Two over her smaller sister just long enough to survey the area, then continued on. When the green behemoth landed in a clearing surrounded by tall conifers Virgil was ready. Calm. Focussed. Pulse steady.

_ “Optical camouflage engaged,”  _ Gordon reported through the comms.  _ “You sure you don’t want me to come with you?” _

Locked and loaded Virgil headed down the ramp and into the ankle deep snow. “Thanks, but you know the drill. Stay with Thunderbird Two until I call for you.”

_ “F.A.B. Be careful.” _

Virgil activated his hud. “Always.”

His boots crunched through the snow as he left the relative safety of his now invisible ship, the display on his hud feeding him all the information he required. Scott’s implant placed him about half way between One and Two, with scans from Five creating a virtual containment field that Virgil could use as a baseline. Ideally he wanted to get somewhere higher up so he could get a clear vantage point, but the terrain was rough and four legs made travelling a lot easier than two. 

In his current form Scott could cross twice the distance Virgil could in half the time, so the most logical option was to head straight for the werewolf and hope he didn’t spook him. That containment field was only virtual after all. Nothing was there to stop Scott from crossing it and evading capture.

With the rifle held out in front of him and all his senses on high alert Virgil began a steady trek into the forest. He followed a small river which had carved a relatively smooth path through the valley, waded across at a shallow part and then headed back up into the trees.

He made good time over the next thirty minutes. The wind was in his favour, allowing Virgil to follow his nose as soon as he caught his brother’s familiar scent. The display on his hud was more of a backup than anything else now, technology bowing out to his werewolf senses.

Thunderbird Five’s scanners were incredibly advanced and rarely missed anything, yet Virgil still preferred to rely on his natural prowess. John may be an amazing programmer but no algorithm could replicate instinct or a heightened sense of smell.

The terrain started to drop quite dramatically again, with a large rock formation jutting out of the slope Virgil now stood above, blocking his view further down.

He paused. Eyes flicked about for any signs of danger. A long moment crept past with no movement. Virgil took in a deep breath of the frigid air, picking out the scent of his changed brother and the whiff of something else. Blood. Fresh and a lot of it. 

He was close.

A whisper. “John, talk to me.” He readied the rifle and continued forward. Slow and cautious, stepping carefully between patches of snow to make as little sound as possible.

_ “Scans are picking up his implant just ahead of you, fifty-two metres.” _

Beyond that outcrop of rocks then. Virgil’s hud display changed as the scanners from Thunderbird Five boosted the signal enough for him to lock onto a heat signature through the solid rock. The distinct shape of a large wolf tearing into the slowly cooling carcass of an animal. Looked to be a mountain goat. 

Damnit. How long had Scott been holding back his wolf half?

Virgil pressed a small button on the side of the rifle, sending out a signal to Thunderbirds Two and Five confirming he was closing in on Scott. It was all about stealth now. He had to get into position so he could take the shot. The sooner he had Scott tranquilized the sooner they could get him back to the safety of Thunderbird Two and head home. 

He crept forward, every step calculated and placed as gently as possible. If Scott heard him and fled it could take hours to catch up with him again.

The weight of the rifle in his hands. The cold crispness of the air. The tightness of the reinforced layers of his body armour. The sound of his brother tearing into raw flesh as he fed. Virgil’s body began to buzz with adrenaline.

Nearing the edge of the rock Virgil eased himself down and crawled the last few feet, settled the rifle and peered through the scope. Now in a suitable position he moved his finger to the trigger and went completely still. The picture of a real sniper, lying in wait for the perfect shot.

Below him, approximately twenty metres away, was his brother. Scott was muzzle deep into the body of a mountain goat, blood everywhere staining the snow and his paws. He was feasting, tearing into flesh and pulling chunks free which he quickly gulped down. All of his attention was on his consumption, which worked to Virgil’s advantage. The more Scott focussed on his kill the less time he had to look around and potentially spot Virgil’s position.

Now the wait began. Scott was facing him directly so the contact points for the dart were limited. The dart had a much better chance if it could hit a shoulder or flank, so all Virgil could do now was be patient and hope his brother turned just enough for him to take the shot.

_ “We’re receiving the feed from your hud, Virgil,”  _ John’s voice spoke quietly in his ear.  _ “Gordon is preparing the pod for transport. Be advised that a new weather front is moving in, so look out for the wind changing direction.” _

Another silent tap of the button on the rifle sent John Virgil’s answer. Transmission received and acknowledged. 

Come on, Scott. They were now on a time limit with that weather change. Just turn a little bit more. 

Virgil hated situations like this where he was forced to train a gun on his beloved older brother. It went against his pack mentality. A wolf should not have to hunt their own pack alpha.

Still, better Virgil with his finger on the trigger of a tranquiliser gun than some glory seeking trophy hunter with live ammunition. 

Scott finally shifted, turning his body so he could get at the carcass from a better angle. Virgil breathed out slowly and prepared to take the shot.

Luck was not on his side.

A large clump of snow fell from the rocky ledge somewhere to Virgil’s left. There was a thaw on so it was hardly surprising, but the sudden movement was enough to spook Scott and make him back away from his kill.

Just as Virgil pulled the trigger. 

The rifle fired. 

The dart flew through the air. 

And missed.

What would have been a perfectly good shot was ruined as Scott’s body pivoted, causing the dart to brush through wiry fur in a glancing blow and embed itself in the ground instead. Scott’s head shot round and he had a sniff at the sleek silver implement, then turned his intense gaze upwards and locked directly onto Virgil’s position.

Shit. Cover blown.

The deep chested growl was like distant thunder as Scott bared his teeth, hackles up and ears flattening back against his skull.

There was no hiding from him now. No retreating. Virgil had two options. Risk another shot and provoke an attack, or try to get through to his brother’s human consciousness.

His finger hovered over the trigger again and he took a shallow breath. 

“Scott.” Quiet. Unthreatening. Pleading.

Don’t attack. Don’t run. Stay put and let him make a second attempt.

A flick of an ear and the growling lessened. Was that recognition? It was always hard to tell when a wolf went rogue, and to assume anything could be deadly. 

A gust of wind high above made the trees creak and disturbed snow from their branches. One snapped, nothing more than a twig, but it landed on Scott’s back and startled him.

He flew forward, perceiving the danger to be behind him, and jumped up the rocks towards Virgil.

“Shit!”

Scott was up in two bounds. Virgil scrambled to his knees and was forced to fend off a set of lethal teeth with the rifle. Scott’s momentum and strength shoved him over as his jaws clamped down on the barrel, dragging Virgil under him until the rifle was ripped away from his hands.

With that mouth momentarily obstructed Virgil lifted a foot and kicked out, shoving with all his might and pushing Scott back. The rifle was thrown against the rocks as Virgil grabbed another dart from his belt, then teeth were upon him again. 

Scott got his left arm and clamped down hard, a frantic attack fueled purely by fear and instinct. A tooth slipped between the protective layers of armour and found flesh, forcing a cry of pain from Virgil. 

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Scott attempted to shake him until Virgil smacked him in the eye, a tactic which distracted the werewolf just long enough for Virgil to find the second dart he’d dropped in the struggle. He plunged it into his brother’s shoulder.

Scott yelped in pain and withdrew, releasing Virgil’s arm and stumbling back over the uneven rocks. The dart remained embedded in his shoulder, the contents now free to drain into his bloodstream and bring him down.

As his brother withdrew Virgil slumped back across the ground and stared up at the trees towering over him. His heart was pounding and lungs heaving for air. Panic gripped him despite the immediate danger having passed. His arm and shoulder ached from the abuse he’d been subjected to.

The stress of Scott’s attack had his body shaking, mild shock threatening to trigger a change. He had to calm down. Breathe. Relax. Don’t let his wolf half take over.

_ “Virgil, status!”  _ John in his ear.

_ “Are you okay?” _ Gordon too.  _ “Talk to us, bro!” _

Their voices helped. They gave him something to focus on. A way to ground himself and hold back the change.

Virgil turned his head to the right and saw Scott wobble. His brother was facing the opposite direction, but those four legs were looking very unsteady now and his head was down. A few more steps and then he slumped into the snow. The sedative was finally taking effect.

Virgil drew in a deep breath and swallowed. Thank God.

“Gordon. He’s down.” He felt exhausted.

_ “F.A.B. Hang on, Virgil. I’m on my way.” _

Virgil hummed and turned his gaze back towards the trees. He couldn’t afford to sleep, but his body needed a moment to rest. Scott was metres away and in no shape to go wandering off, which meant Virgil had a few minutes to regain some strength.

So he lay there in the snow and waited for his heart to stop pounding in his ears. It wasn’t his most successful retrieval mission, but he had still managed in the end. 

Scott would be safe now. At least until they were back on Tracy Island. 

Then Virgil was going to give him hell.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you take the time to read this I really appreciate it and hope you enjoy it.

When Gordon appeared in the pod Virgil was back on his feet and waiting beside Scott, guarding him while inspecting the now knackered rifle. He’d wrapped the wound on his arm, a temporary fix that would do for now, but there was clearly more damage than just the puncture wound.

It had all happened so fast, but the constant ache insisted that something else had occurred during their tussle. Maybe a dislocation? Virgil had done that before so he knew the feeling, but the bones were back in place now so perhaps the injury had righted itself as he’d struggled with Scott.

Either way it hurt like hell, but he pushed it from his mind and helped Gordon get Scott loaded into the crate for transport.

The trip back to Thunderbird Two didn’t take very long. Gordon drove the mountain pod smoothly, and Virgil found himself almost nodding off on more than one occasion, the gentle sway of the pod as it moved trying its best to rock him to sleep before he snapped awake again.

If Gordon noticed he didn’t say anything about it. It had been a rough day and they both just wanted to go home now, so as soon as they got back to Thunderbird Two the younger brother went straight to the cockpit and prepared for departure.

Virgil remained seated in the relative comfort of the pod and listened to the thrum of his ‘bird all around him. The firing of her powerful VTOL. Roar of her aft thrusters. The changes in her engine tones as she slowed to a hover and then an accompaniment of smaller VTOL joining her song from beyond her hull.

Thunderbird One would likely remain slaved to Two’s console for the duration of the flight home, monitored by the watchful eyes up in Thunderbird Five and those at home eagerly awaiting their return.

Home. Where there would still be a lot to do.

With that thought in mind Virgil heaved his tired and aching body out of the pod and moved round to the back, activating the lock mechanism on the crate. Shades of ash, cedar and walnut fur greeted him as the hatch rolled open, Scott’s deep breaths and the gentle rise and fall of his ribs indicating the tranquiliser still had him fully under. Good. At least he was calm.

The relief at knowing he was safe and on the way home almost had Virgil sagging against the back of the pod. Almost. The adrenaline was long gone now and his fatigue made his body heavy, but he still had responsibilities until they could get back to the island and the rest of the family could help.

Grabbing a hypodermic from a nearby cabinet he hauled himself into the crate alongside the sleeping werewolf, careful of his injured arm. At Scott’s shoulder he paused, used his teeth to pull off his right glove and then slid his fingers through the thick wiry hair, parting it to reveal pale skin.

Again using his teeth, this time to remove the cap from the hypo, Virgil pinched his brother’s scruff and slid the needle in as carefully as he could. The shot would break down the sedative to help bring Scott round, and hopefully trigger him to change back.

Virgil capped the needle and then sat back against the wall of the crate. His head tipped until it met the cold steel behind him and an exhausted sigh left his lips.

Damn, he was going to be aching tomorrow. Wrestling with an enraged werewolf on rocky terrain in the snow was not something Virgil ever wanted to repeat. His armour had only done so much to protect him so he was probably going to be black and blue later.

It was worth it though. Scott was safe. That was the most important thing.

“You okay, bro?”

Virgil blinked and turned his head to find Gordon standing at the back of the pod. He looked worried. Virgil cracked a small smile.

“Don’t worry, he’ll be fine. Probably have a bit of a headache when he wakes up, but he’s not hurt.” 

Gordon returned the smile with a weak one of his own and tilted his head. “Good, but I asked if _you_ were okay, not Scott.” Caramel eyes slid towards Virgil’s left arm, cradled in his right across his middle. “How bad is it?” 

For a brief moment Virgil considered lying, telling Gordon that his arm was okay and it was nothing a hot bath wouldn’t fix. Then he thought better of it. The bandage was visible under Virgil’s torn sleeve and arm guard and his younger brother could probably smell his blood. Gordon may not be a werewolf like Virgil was but his sense of smell was still far superior to that of a regular human.

Lying about the injury would just make Virgil look like an idiot and he wasn’t in the mood for a lecture. It was better to own up and accept help.

“Puncture wound to my brachioradialis. Suspected dislocation followed by relocation of the radius and ulna through trauma. Strain and possible tearing of the annular and radial collateral ligaments.”

Gordon rolled his eyes. “Show off.”

Virgil managed a smirk and shrugged. “You asked.”

“Yeah, but you chose to be a smartass about it,” Gordon retorted as he hopped up into the crate. Fortunately there was enough room for all three of them.

“Force of habit,” Virgil mused. “Comes with being the family medic.”

He allowed Gordon to carefully take hold of his arm in his hands and watched as his younger brother removed the guard so he could get a closer look.

“This is kinda nasty but the bleeding has slowed,” he noted. “You’re going to have a nice scar there.”

Virgil shrugged again. “I don’t mind. Give it a few years and it’ll fade.”

Gordon hummed and hopped back out of the crate, then held out a hand towards his brother. “Come on. Let’s get you out of that wet gear and then I’ll wrap it properly. You can make sure I’m doing it right, then we’ll get a sling on you.”

Virgil grumbled but kept his mouth shut. As much as he hated to admit it his arm was going to be out of commission for at least the next week. The GDF would need to be notified so they could pick up the slack with rescues until then, since Scott wasn’t going to be fit to fly for a couple of days either.

What a mess. Virgil should have noticed his older brother was struggling so bad a lot sooner. It could have saved them all so much hassle and upset. Scott was going to be sick with guilt when he woke up and realised what he’d done.

A nudge at his knee brought Virgil back to the present and he looked down tiredly at his younger brother.

“Come on, big guy.” Gordon’s tone was a lot softer this time. “Focus on yourself for a bit. You can worry about everything else later.”

With a mumble of acknowledgement Virgil eased himself down onto the floor of the module and let Gordon direct him to the nearby medical bed. Some warm dry clothes definitely sounded like a good idea, along with painkillers and maybe a quick nap before they got home.

Yeah. That was definitely a good plan.

~*~

The first thing Scott felt when he woke up was pain. A persistent ache in his skull behind his eyes and through his sinuses which seemed to have been there for a while. 

Ugh, he hated that feeling. It was almost like having a head cold but without the blocked nose. His sense of smell was still there but it felt dulled. Tired like the rest of him.

He lifted a hand and carefully pinched at the bridge of his nose. He’d already assumed he was in his human form but the confirmation was still reassuring as his brain slowly came back online to process the information shooting into it from all his nerve endings.

Aches and pains, heaviness and a bad taste in the back of his throat.

Ugh, what the hell had happened? The last thing he remembered was heading for home after his latest mission. Alaska, was it? The trapped tourists on that mountain mining tour?

Yeah, that was right. There had been two of them and he’d got them out, able to manage on his own without having to call upon Virgil to assist. He remembered seeing the pair heading for home after giving him their thanks, so how the hell had that led to this rather unpleasant situation he now found himself in?

Rather than risk moving further and making the pain in his head worse he chose to remain still and tried to take stock of everything. 

Okay, so he was in a bed but it wasn’t his own, these sheets around him felt different. His tired nose confirmed he was definitely back on Tracy Island. He recognised the scents of home, could detect the trace whiffs of rocket fuel from the hangars and a brush of ocean air through the vents.

But there was also a sort of clinical smell. Antibacterial, sterilisers.

And finally the far more comforting and familiar scent of a brother. 

Earthy undertones, a touch of engine grease, fresh air and the faint smell of mint and tea tree shampoo. 

Virgil?

Scott’s sluggish brain put the pieces together and finally it all clicked.

The infirmary.

Shit.

“That you awake now?”

Scott flinched and instantly regretted it. He rolled onto his side and made a weak attempt to curl his considerable height up into a pathetic ball as his brain started using what felt like a jackhammer to break out of his skull. A few seconds later a new pain made itself known in the shoulder he was now resting on. Like he’d had an injection or something.

Seriously, what the hell was going on?

Swallowing against a brief pang of nausea Scott forced his eyes open and peered blearily across the room.

Yup, definitely the infirmary. The holoscreen in front of the windows which looked out onto the hangars were activated, scrolling through all kinds of data and scans that Scott’s suffering brain couldn’t decipher at the moment. Virgil stood in front of them, his back to the bed as he studied all that information.

Scott frowned. Why did Virgil have his back to him? And where was his red plaid shirt? His usual grey undershirt was there, but this time it was accompanied by a strange black strap that came over Virgil’s right shoulder, crossed his wide back and then connected to another strap that was around his middle. And what was that encasing what little Scott could see of his brother’s left arm?

He swallowed against the dryness of his throat and opened his mouth. “Virg?”

God, he sounded so pathetic. What was going on?

A sigh and Virgil turned to face him. Eyes that looked about as tired as Scott felt stared back at him, and yet here Virgil was working away while Scott was too busy feeling sorry for himself.

Not how the pack alpha should be acting. He had responsibilities but he was letting his family down, and the worst part was he couldn’t even remember how he’d got into this current situation in the first place. 

But here they both were. Scott with apparent amnesia stuck in bed and Virgil looking like he desperately needed one.

Scott hated seeing his brother looking so tired and constantly shouldering so much responsibility - Virgil always put the family’s needs before his own - and the sight that now greeted Scott made it all so much worse.

Virgil was wearing a sling. 

A sling! Why the hell was his brother wearing a sling?! 

What had happened? Had he had an accident? Had someone hurt him? Scott would tear his fangs into the culprit if that were the case.

“Stop it.”

Scott’s train of thought came to an abrupt halt. He blinked at his brother. 

Virgil leaned back against the counter and Scott finally noticed that the medical file on the holoscreen behind his brother was his own. Not a huge surprise given his current position in one of the beds, but it did little to shed any light on what had happened to bring him here in the first place. 

He swallowed. “Stop what?” His voice came out as little more than a croak.

And Virgil was moving again, crossing the floor to the medication cabinet on the wall. He pulled keys from his pocket, fumbled them awkwardly in one hand for a moment, then finally managed to get the cabinet open and reach in for a bottle of something. 

Going by the rattle it had to be pills. Painkillers maybe?

“You’ve got a headache, right?” Virgil’s guess was spot on but Scott refused to admit it. “Stop trying to psychoanalyse everything and just relax for a minute.”

Scott remained quiet. Virgil seemed a little on edge despite his relatively calm and steady tone. Scott could see it in the little telltale signs his brother often exhibited when he was stressed, probably without even realising. 

The way that scar on his brow was slightly deeper than usual as he frowned. How he clenched his jaw when he wasn’t speaking. The crack of a thumb knuckle from the arm in the sling as his other fumbled again with the keys to lock the cabinet. 

Yup. Scott may have a bit of a broken head right now but he wasn’t stupid. Whatever had happened Virgil was pissed. 

“I’ll get you some water. We’ll see if you can keep that down first.”

Okay?

Scott’s bleary gaze watched Virgil place the pills he’d just retrieved into a small plastic cap, then fill a cup with water from a nearby sink. 

Scott managed to sit up and his fingers immediately moved to have a careful prod at his shoulder through the thin cotton shirt he was wearing. Some gauze had been taped over the sore spot.

A wound? Did he get that on his last mission? He certainly didn’t remember it.

He looked up and found Virgil now standing in front of him, water in hand and an unnerving intensity in his normally warm dark eyes. Scott sheepishly took the cup without question and had a few careful sips.

The water was nice and cold so it helped to refresh him, washing away that unpleasant taste which was now sort of familiar to him in the corner of his mind. Rich. A slight coppery tang. Almost gamey.

The last thing Scott had eaten had been a cajun chicken wrap. Little more than a quick snack before he’d flown out because it had been all he’d had time for. Normally a meal that small would only tide him over for a couple of hours, so why did he feel like he wouldn’t need to eat for the next week?

“Drink it slow,” Virgil instructed. “If you gulp it down you’ll just make yourself sick.”

Scott raised an eyebrow. “You’re talking like you know something I don’t,” he mumbled. “Care to fill me in?”

He watched that scar deepen again. “You really don’t remember?”

Scott frowned up at him. “No. I don’t.” He was starting to get a little unnerved by Virgil’s strange behaviour. Unnerved and irritated. “Will you just tell me what the hell is going on?”

Virgil growled. Actually growled at him. A low rumble deep in his chest that human vocal cords alone could not have managed. “How about you make a deduction, _Alpha_.”

Scott’s hackle went up at the tone. “Seriously? We’re deferring to pack politics now?” He straightened up, hardly imposing as he was sitting down, but Virgil’s refusal to explain things to him were now really starting to annoy him.

“Just answer my question, Virgil.” That definitely came out as an order. “What’s going on? Why am I here and what happened to your arm?”

“You did!” Virgil’s snarl made Scott’s nerves tingle horribly.

Shock came first, followed by an angry confusion as Virgil’s words gave him little to work with. Piercing blue eyes slid from his brother’s scowling face, seeking more information. Anything to help him understand.

He found himself staring at the black sling supporting Virgil’s arm.

Black. 

Like the arm and leg guards on their armoured gear. The ones they only used in family emergencies that demanded they lose the blue of their International Rescue uniforms for something that would stand up to sharp teeth and powerful jaws.

Fragments of memory started to slowly click back together. 

The rich gamey taste of mountain goat. The coppery blood that stained his muzzle as he tore into the carcass. 

Virgil’s voice, Scott’s name on his lips.

He felt his stomach begin to churn as more disjointed images came back to him.

Rocks and snow. A fresh kill. Staring up at the barrel of a rifle. Perceiving it as a threat despite the familiar scent of the one holding it.

Flying into a rage brought on by instinct and bloodlust.

A struggle. A sharp kick to his ribs.

Attack. Attack. Attack.

His teeth clamping down on that black armour and one canine sinking into flesh.

Blood that was not the goat’s. Blood that his wolf had been determined to see more of. To rip open flesh and spill across the snow.

Virgil’s flesh. 

Virgil’s blood. 

Virgil.

His beloved brother.

Scott exploded up off the bed with sickening urgency, pushed past Virgil and threw himself at the waste bin in the corner of the room. He barely got the lid off in time before he was heaving into it, his stomach evacuating partially digested goat meat as quickly as possible.

The sounds he made were somewhere between a scream and a sob.

He’d bitten his brother. Tasted his blood. Hurt him and tried to kill him!

How could he?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 is already written and will be a bit longer than this. If you enjoyed it please let me know :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will likely be the last of this fic and universe due to lack of interest. Big thanks to those of you who read it, but I think I'm going to focus on something else.

Virgil gave Scott a moment of privacy and picked up the cup that had been flung to the floor in his brother’s haste, refilling it at the sink. He would need to get some fluids back into his brother’s system as soon as possible, but had decided against chaining Scott down with an IV line because he would have probably just ripped it out anyway.

Virgil knew that from experience. Scott was a menace as a patient. Almost as bad as Virgil himself, though he’d never admit to that.

He heard the hiss of the waste chute panel opening and turned just in time to see Scott push the entire bin through and then close the panel again, leaving the island’s waste treatment centre bots deep underground to deal with it. 

Clearly exhausted and white as a sheet, Scott slumped back against the wall. His eyes were red rimmed and his skin clammy, hardly surprising given how ill he’d just been, and his breathing was laboured.

A far cry from the normally strong and confident man Virgil knew him to be when at his best.

Now he just looked small, vulnerable and broken. It was not a pleasant sight.

Virgil’s anger wavered just a little, his concern for Scott desperate to push through and take over. No matter how frustrating his elder brother could be at times Virgil would always love him dearly, and he hated to see him in such a terrible state.

Scott was the alpha. Head of the family and leader of the pack. A lot of responsibility had been placed on his human shoulders purely for being born first, but it was his stubborn resilience and confidence that had made him alpha.

Between the two of them Virgil was the stronger, and while Scott was taller as a human Virgil was bigger as a wolf. When the two stood side by side in their canine forms Virgil looked like he should be the alpha, but he lacked the temperament for the position.

Scott was self assured, fearless and confident. He knew what he was capable of and thought little of taking risks if there was the potential for him to gain something from it. By contrast Virgil was quiet, somewhat shy and preferred to avoid confrontation wherever possible. The role of the beta within their pack was far better suited to him, despite his intimidating size and appearance. 

It was Virgil’s job to look after the alpha and keep the peace. Scott’s reliable second in command on both two legs and four. And that meant that, when it was necessary, Virgil was the only one who could bear his fangs and snarl at his older brother without fear of getting his head bitten off. 

Like just now. Because Scott had done something unbelievably stupid and he knew it. He _knew it_ so of course Virgil was going to let him suffer for a few minutes. Maybe it would teach him a bloody lesson.

The wolf had to be respected. That was one of their fundamental rules they had established within the family. It didn’t matter that most of the time they were in perfect control and posed no more of a threat to people than a puppy did. 

If the wolf wasn’t respected and monitored closely then instinct would threaten to take hold and human logic and reasoning would be the first things to get thrown clean out the window. Then everyone was at risk, even family. 

Just like today.

They could only count their blessings that Scott had been caught safely and that it had been one of their own who was injured by him and not a member of the public. That didn’t mean it was all going to be forgotten though. Absolutely not. Scott was alpha and he knew better. There was no excuse for such a careless mistake.

So yeah, Virgil was pissed at him, and that was what had held him back from rushing straight in to comfort his older brother as he’d literally been spewing his guts up.

But seeing Scott now, so tired and distraught… Virgil realised he couldn’t cling to his anger completely. Some of that compassion had to come back through.

He approached his brother and held out his good hand. “Up you get,” he encouraged. “Wash up and rinse your mouth out. Then we’ll get some fluids into you.”

Scott refuses to meet his gaze, staring at Virgil’s hand instead. He swallowed. “Aren’t you going to shout at me?”

A sigh from Virgil. “I’m considering it. Come on now, you can’t stay there.”

Even with those eyes not looking directly at him Virgil could easily see the anger and guilt Scott was currently drowning in. Hardly surprising given the circumstances, but right now he needed him to move.

When Scott made no effort to take his hand Virgil frowned and grabbed his wrist. He made sure not to hurt his brother but the strength and grip he applied made it perfectly clear that Scott was moving, whether he liked it or not.

His elder brother remained silent as he slowly cooperated.

A smart move.

Once he was on his feet and didn’t look like he was about to keel over, Virgil walked Scott to the adjoining bathroom and left him to tend to his needs. He wasn’t all that surprised when he heard the shower going. In fact he was kind of glad.

Scott taking a shower meant Virgil had an extra couple of minutes to get his temper under control and calm down. He could tell his blood pressure was a little high by how keyed up his body felt, a strange combination with emotional exhaustion, and his usual patience was nearly depleted for the day.

In a normal situation he would have let his wolf come out so he could go on a run across the island. It was an easy way to relieve some tension and help his body find its natural rhythm again. Unfortunately his injury prevented him from doing so. 

Small injuries were rarely an issue when shifting, but more serious ones like Virgil’s arm could cause significant complications between forms. So as tempting as it might be to let his wolf take over for a while and help his nerves, it wasn’t worth the physical risks.

Getting one of his brothers to cover the infirmary so he could get some downtime was a much safer option.

He sat down and leaned heavily on the worktop, ignoring Scott’s files still suspended in the air in front of the hangar windows. His hand rubbed wearily over his face, fingers kneading at the tension across his brow and between his eyes. A headache was forming there, dull but irritating.

God, he really needed some sleep.

He reached out and poked at the comms on the holographic screen. “Gordon? You there?”

The screen immediately flickered and was replaced by the form of his younger brother. _“Hey, Virgil. How’s it going down there?”_

Virgil tried to straighten on the stool but the fatigue was determined to weigh him down. “Okay. Scott’s awake now and doing better, just having a shower. Do you think you could take over for a bit? I’m not feeling too great but someone should keep an eye on him.”

He could see the sympathy in Gordon’s expression. _“Say no more. I’ll be right down.”_

Virgil shook his head. “Nah, give me about twenty minutes. I just have a few more things to straighten out.”

A frown. _“You sure? You’re dead on your feet.”_

A grunt. He didn’t need Gordon to tell him that. Every cell in his body was screaming at him and threatening to go on strike. He just needed to hold out a little longer and talk to Scott. 

He needed to vent. Clear the air between them and let his thoughts be heard. Only then could he let go of his own anger and focus on giving his brother the proper care and attention he needed, then see to his own needs.

“I’m sure.” Damn, he had to force those words out. “But if you could be here by then I’d appreciate it.”

Gordon nodded. _“Okay. But call me straight away if you need me sooner. You’re burning the candle at both ends, Virg.”_

“What else is new?” Virgil flicked off the comms before Gordon could answer, perhaps a little abrupt but right now he had neither the energy nor the patience to continue the discussion.

He’d just apologise to Gordon later for it. For now he had a job to do. Scott would likely be out the shower in the next few minutes - he never took very long - and multiple things would need to be addressed.

The work of the pack beta was never done, as a wolf or a human. 

Okay. Focus.

Virgil turned his tired eyes back to the medical files and reviewed what was still to be done, forcing his brain to switch back into medic mode.

Scott was up and about, though still likely to be a little bit woozy from the lingering traces of the tranquiliser in his system. The hot water would have helped with that, but more sleep was the best thing. He had a headache too, a common problem after being hit with a dart.

Oh yeah, the dart. Virgil had almost forgotten about the small puncture wound on his brother’s shoulder. That would need dressing again.

Virgil dug deep and found the strength to leave his seat. He pulled out some fresh gauze and antiseptic to treat Scott’s shoulder and set it out neatly on a trolley by the bed.

Next on the list was hydration. Gordon had made up some of his lemon and ginger concoction that he liked to have whenever he did a serious workout in the pool, and Virgil had a few bottles stashed in the infirmary fridge. Packed full of electrolytes it would replenish what Scott had lost and hopefully bring his levels back up to baseline. 

He could take the painkillers for his headache with that and then they’d try him with a small meal later on. Something light for his stomach and easy to digest.

Virgil made a note for Gordon to arrange that once he took over, then pulled a bottle from the fridge and took it with the pills over to the trolley.

The last thing he did was retrieve a new bin from the storage compartment, seeing as how Scott had done away with the last one after emptying his stomach into it. At least Virgil didn’t have to deal with that. Talk about small mercies.

He was just placing the new bin in its allocated spot when the door to the bathroom opened and his brother peered out. With some colour in his cheeks from the hot water and dressed in fresh sleepwear Scott definitely looked a bit better. Far from the picture of health but it was a step in the right direction.

But the guilt was still there in his eyes, taking all the light out of them. Guilt and remorse.

They stared at each other for a moment, the tension back and neither of them quite sure how to deal with it. One wrong move and either of them could snap, a dangerous situation to be in given their incredible strength and short tempers brought on by a day that had been utter hell for them both.

This was why Virgil had banned anyone else from the infirmary. When werewolf emotions ran high it was too dangerous for their fully human family members to be around them. Even Kayo wouldn’t stand a chance if she got between the two of them at loggerheads.

And that was definitely coming. Neither of them knew when exactly, but it was going to happen.

Not now, though. Not here. It was far too risky.

Calm down. Think clearly. Stay in control.

Virgil let out a breath through his nose and was the first to move. He’d noticed Scott was holding a bit of tissue paper to his shoulder, so he pointed at his brother’s bed. “Sit. I’ll get that covered.”

Scott hesitated but then did as he was told and Virgil snapped on a glove in preparation. This was going to be tricky with only one hand, but he would manage. He pointed to the trolley and all its contents. “Water, painkillers, then I want you to drink that bottle.”

Scott looked at it and wrinkled his nose ever so slightly. Virgil knew he wasn’t overly fond of Gordon’s various sport drink concoctions, but right now he couldn’t care less. It was good for him so there would be no negotiating on the matter. 

Scott could pull faces all he wanted, but if he made _one_ verbal complaint Virgil was going to lose it.

“How bad is it?” His brother’s quiet words made him pause. He should have expected to be asked, but he’d been so preoccupied with everything he’d been doing in the infirmary that he honestly hadn’t given their inevitable conversation much thought. 

Scott was staring at the trolley, once again refusing to make eye contact, yet still clearly expecting an answer.

Virgil’s wolf wanted to growl. He forced it back into the depths of his chest and focussed on cutting a piece of gauze to size, managing despite the awkwardness of having one arm immobilised.

Everything about this situation was pissing him off now and it was getting harder and harder to keep his anger in check. Having something to focus on helped. A little. 

Maybe he should have asked Gordon to come down sooner after all. 

“Depends on what you mean by ‘it’.” He managed to get the gauze taped over Scott’s shoulder without too much difficulty and stepped away again, eager to put some distance between himself and his older brother. 

“That’ll be tender for a couple of days. Tomorrow you can take the bandage off and let some air get at it.”

Scott’s fingers brushed over the medical tape. “Thank you.”

Virgil started to clean up, not that there was much to tidy away. He just needed to move. To distract himself. Scott was clearly wanting to talk about what had happened and looking for an angle to start the conversation. Understandable given the situation he’d found himself in upon waking, but Virgil really wasn’t in a suitable frame of mind for that right now. 

His nerves were in tatters and he just wanted his bed.

“Virgil?”

Here we go...

“Don’t, Scott.”

“Please? I just want to talk.”

“We can do that later.” He jabbed a finger in the direction of the trolley. “Pills and fluids.”

Scott’s expression turned sad. He reached slowly for the pills, tilting the cap and listening to them rattle. “I just wanted to clear the air,” he murmured. “We always talk when things are bad.”

Yes. They did. But it had been a long time since there had been a situation of this magnitude and Virgil had spent the last of his patience clearing up the mess his idiot big brother had caused.

“This isn’t ‘bad’, Scott. This is a fuck up of epic proportions.”

Probably just as well Grandma wasn’t around to hear him say that. She always hated profanity from any of them.

“I know it is,” Scott agreed. “I remember enough to realise that now. That’s why I want us to talk about it.”

Virgil grit his teeth. “Believe me, it wouldn’t be talking for long.”

“Then yell at me. Tell me what you’re feeling. God knows I deserve it.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Damn, he wasn’t letting this go, was he. Another fine example of not reading a situation and just jumping headfirst into it. Typical Scott. It was that same gung ho attitude that had got them into this mess in the first place. Because he didn’t think!

For once in his life why couldn’t he just think things through?

“Virgil.” 

His voice was like an earworm, stuck in his head and driving him insane. He was on the point of losing it.

“Virgil?”

“I said no!” A shout. A snarl. Far from his usual patient control and composure.

Virgil’s anger tore free of its confines in a violent explosion and he lashed out. The trolley took one hard kick from a steel toed boot and clattered across the floor, spilling its contents everywhere. Dented from the blow it clattered against the nearest cabinet and gouged a chunk out of the finished surface.

Better it than Scott.

Who moved to get off the bed.

“Stay where you are,” Virgil snapped, no longer giving a damn that he was ordering his alpha around.

He saw Scott swallow and grip the edge of the mattress. “I was just going to--”

“Don’t.” Virgil backed up until he hit the worktop. “Don’t, or I’ll tear you in half!”

Not that he wanted to. He’d never want to hurt his brother. But werewolf impulses when they were under stress were incredibly unpredictable and near impossible to control if they were overwhelmed.

Just like what had happened to Scott.

He heard a ping behind him from the screens. No doubt his implant registering his increase in blood pressure and the spike of his heart rate, sending out a warning signal to the Z-band network to notify everyone on the island.

A must-have safety precaution. 

A glance over his shoulder and he caught a glimpse of his readings. They were all going into red.

A new scent joined the fray and Virgil’s eyes shot to the door, a growl emitting from deep within his heaving chest. He knew that scent. It was safe. Not a threat.

Another family member. A brother. The one he’d asked for.

“I’m coming in.” Gordon’s voice was steady, announcing his presence to give them some warning. Scott stayed on the bed. Virgil tried to get his breathing under control.

He had to calm down, now more than ever.

~*~

Gordon stepped cautiously into the room, eyes surveying everything and his hands up as if he were being held at gunpoint. Had he been allowed to choose he’d probably opt for the gun over facing an angry werewolf, but Virgil wasn’t that far gone yet so there was still a chance to calm him down.

Deep brown eyes analysed him as soon as he entered, checking his hands for any potential weapons or his body language for signs of aggression. Gordon swallowed and waited. He knew a danger zone when he saw one, and this definitely qualified. One wrong move and everything could go straight to hell, triggering Virgil’s fight or flight reflex if the wolf gained too much control of his tired mind. 

There was a serious risk of injury if things went awry. 

Virgil was already built like a brick outhouse, plus he also possessed the increased strength of his werewolf half that he could tap into whenever he chose. Gordon had inherited some of that strength with his dormant canidae gene so he wasn’t completely helpless, but if Virgil panicked and charged now it would be like getting hit by a freight train. 

If Virgil was the unstoppable force, Gordon was _not_ the immovable object.

His best bet was to give Virgil a moment to adjust to his presence, then carefully try to coax him away from the room and get him to calm down. Some distance from Scott would help. Their eldest brother had a knack for rocking the boat and from the looks of things he’d done exactly that yet again.

Sometimes Gordon wished he had inherited the full gene from their mother which would have made him a werewolf too. Studying her notes she’d left behind and the complex behaviours of his three affected brothers only got him so far. John was far better at this than him, but with him currently up in Thunderbird Five it was all down to Gordon.

“Virgil?” A tentative shifting of his weight, no more than that. “You hear me?”

Virgil was pale. Shaky breaths huffed out of him. He was gripping the worktop behind him so tightly his knuckles were white.

“Stay back.” A clear instruction, but Gordon picked up on the hint of fear within it. The way Virgil’s deep voice trembled ever so slightly.

“I’m not moving, bro,” Gordon assured him. “Just wanting to see if I can help with anything.”

Virgil’s eyes widened ever so slightly. “I don’t want to lose control.” A breath. “I might hurt you.”

Gordon was going to kill Scott for this.

“You’d never hurt me, Virg,” he assured. 

A harsh breath. “Don’t be so sure.”

“You’re still in control,” Gordon pointed out. “You haven’t changed, you’re still communicating. It’s not that bad yet.”

A low grumble. It was weary but doubled as a warning. “Still a risk.”

“Not to me.”

He slowly lowered his arms, an open display of trust, and when Virgil didn’t react he took a careful step forward. “Come on, big fella. You’ve done enough for now. Let me take over so you can get some rest.”

Virgil remained rooted to his spot against the counter, eyes flicking up and down Gordon’s body following that first step. Reassessing. Gordon had seen him do it before. It was encouraging.

“See? No danger. It’s just us.”

Forget about Scott. Keep your eyes on me. You’re safe.

A long moment crawled past. Only the sounds of Virgil’s breathing and the occasional bleep from his readings behind him broke the silence. Gordon shifted his focus past his brother to glance at the screens. They were still far from baseline but from what he could see they were gradually making their way back down towards it.

Then a heavy breath. Caramel eyes shot back to his brother. Virgil released his grip on the counter and moved his hand to his face where he rubbed and pinched at his brow. 

“I didn’t mean to lose it,” he murmured, the earlier growl now gone from his voice.

Gordon smiled. “You didn’t, bro. We’re all good.” Another slow step forward. “You’re just long overdue a trip to cloud nine.” 

Virgil peered at him through his fingers. He looked more in control now. Good. So long as Gordon held his attention and didn’t let it stray back to Scott then they were over the worst - disaster averted.

Scott was frozen in place on the bed, looking like he wanted to say something but forcing himself to remain silent. A wise decision. The first he’d made since this whole sorry story had started.

Gordon took another step, keenly aware of Virgil tracking his movements. The younger offered another small smile as he saw his big brother’s shoulders lose some of their tension. “Come away, Virg. You’re wound way too tight.”

Now close enough to touch him Gordon reached out a hand and let his fingers brush the grey cotton of a broad shoulder. Virgil stiffened for a few seconds, then let the tension drop like a stone from his body. His hand slid away from his face.

Gordon answered this progress with a grin. “There you are. I knew I could get rid of the grr and find you.”

A quirk of a tired eyebrow. “Grr?”

“Polite way of saying you’re a grumpy ass who needs some sleep.” Gordon’s voice had found its chipper tone again and he felt it was safe to return to his more cheerful nature. Virgil was back in full control again. The wolf slept.

Now Gordon just had to make sure Virgil did the same thing, which meant getting him out of the infirmary and away from Scott as quickly and calmly as possible.

“You’re the ass,” Virgil’s low voice rumbled. 

“Sticks and stones, bro,” Gordon replied. “Now get moving. I’m on shift and got things to do. I promise you’ll still have an infirmary to come back to later.”

A grunt. “It better be tidy.”

Gordon rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. It’ll be spotless.” 

A carefully placed hand between shoulder blades got two hundred pounds of now docile Virgil moving away from the worktop, and Gordon kept that momentum going with a gentle pressure that prevented him from stopping. 

A glance back just as they stepped through the door and caramel brown met sky blue. Haunted and defeated.

Guilt and sympathy flooded Gordon.

How had they not seen this coming?

~*~

Gordon walked him to his room. If they passed anyone else on the way Virgil didn’t notice. His sharp senses were shutting down one by one, his body putting all of its energy into staying upright and reaching his destination.

His room. Bed. Sleep. 

That was the only thing on his mind now. Everything else could wait. 

Just for a little while.

“Comm me if you need anything, okay?” They’d reached his door and Gordon gave his shoulder a squeeze.

Virgil answered with a faint smile. “Yeah. Thanks, Gordo.”

Gordon’s hand slipped away and stepped back. “Don’t mention it, Virg. Sleep well.”

Oh, he intended to. For as long as possible. Gordon had been saying something about making sure he wouldn’t be disturbed by any emergency alarms until he reemerged, and for that Virgil was incredibly grateful.

He stepped into his room and nudged it shut behind him with a foot.

Before him, his bed. Heaven in its corporeal form. Fresh sheets turned down, pillows arranged neatly and his light switched on to its lowest setting.

A faint scent reached his worn out nose.

Grandma. 

God, how he loved her. She was known for doing this sort of thing for all of them - her way of showing support with these loving little gestures. After a particularly gruelling day they always came home to a neat bed.

Virgil would need to thank her with a big hug in the morning.

But sleep first. Lots of it.

Since he’d showered after getting home he decided not to bother getting changed, so he simply removed his boots and crawled into the middle of his bed. The cool freshness of the sheets felt amazing as he slid down over them. 

There was nothing like his own bed. Super King size. A gift to himself from a few years back, with the best mattress money could buy and enough room to sleep in any position he wanted.

His space. His haven. Virgil loved his bed. It had been the source of a few jokes from his brothers about how much he enjoyed sleeping and how grumpy he always was in the morning when he had to leave it. Of course he’d done nothing to dissuade them of their opinions. Mostly because they were right.

Virgil unclipped his sling and chucked it away, then turned onto his good side and nuzzled into his pillow.

Silence. Wonderful, peaceful silence. 

The tension started to slowly ooze out of him. Muscles full of knots finally took the chance to rest. That horrible tightness in his chest brought on by his anxiety and stress faded away. His nerves, wound too tight as Gordon had put it, began to unravel. Now if only his arm would stop aching.

A sigh. He’d forgotten to take more painkillers, but there was no way in hell he was moving now that he was horizontal and sinking into his mattress and duvet. He had no intention of moving again for at least the next six hours. The pain was tolerable. He could deal with it.

A refreshing breeze slipped inside through the open vent, bringing with it the distant whisper of the waves on the rocks. A perfect distraction. Virgil started to drift.

A faint click registered in his semi conscious brain. Light steps across the large rug on the floor followed. Then movement felt through the mattress, accompanied by the rustle of disturbed fabric.

Virgil had his back to his door so he wouldn’t have been able to see his visitor without moving, which absolutely wasn’t happening now. He knew who it was anyway. It had happened before. He didn’t mind.

The mattress dipped just a little as the newcomer settled. A moment as they got comfortable, sitting so their back was lightly pressed to Virgil’s own. Just a small point of contact to remind him they were there. Warmth seeped through Virgil’s grey shirt and he relaxed just a tad more.

Then the faintest bleep and music from a games console turned right down low. Something to keep them entertained while they took on this silent vigil.

“Alan.” Virgil’s tone was low and sleepy, just enough to be heard.

Movement. Probably Alan looking back at him over his shoulder. Virgil remained still, comfortable and comforted by his little brother’s gesture. Alan had done this a few times, every now and then when things were particularly bad.

“I’ve got your back, bro.”

Those words, quietly spoken but honest and true, brought a tired smile to Virgil’s lips. There was no danger, yet Alan had now taken up position to act as a guard while a vulnerable and injured Virgil got some much needed rest.

A werewolf trait his human side definitely appreciated.

So he lay there in the quiet. The mattress took the weight of his fatigue-heavy body. The pillow cradled his weary head. The warmth of Alan sat behind him spreading into his back making him drowsy, and the faint sound effects of whatever game his little brother was playing oddly comforting.

Virgil returned to drifting, and was soon deep asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC?


End file.
